


(An Ass out of) You and Me

by surlybobbies



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Misunderstandings, Witch Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 08:59:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14077422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surlybobbies/pseuds/surlybobbies
Summary: Dean was pretty certain his best friend was a witch.  It didn't bother him.  What did bother him, however, was that Cas wouldn't admit to it.“What’s in this?” Dean asked, holding his spoonful of mashed potatoes to the light.  “Seriously, is it magic?”  He was dead serious, but Cas just took a sip of his (homemade) apple cider and kept smiling.“It’s a secret.”





	(An Ass out of) You and Me

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: some elements may seem noncon, and a character is understandably upset, but THERE IS NO ACTUAL NONCON.

Dean was pretty sure Cas was a witch. Dean’s brother Sammy still occasionally dabbled in the craft and Eileen even made some money on the side selling simple protection spells, so it didn’t take Dean too long to figure out what Cas grew all that sage for. 

Even Cas’s apartment was witchy (though Eileen would have twisted her mouth at him and told him there was no such thing as strictly “witchy,” just like there was no such thing as strictly “masculine” or “feminine.”) There were dried herbs strung up and hanging on Cas’s cabinet handles and an actual _stone_ mortar and pestlein one of the drawers. Candles burned in the corners of each room, and spread on each flat surface was a different swatch of fabric - some woven and scratchy, others soft and colorful, most smelling of incense, and all of them from foreign countries Cas had visited before meeting Dean two years ago. The walls were painted a muted rusty red - “adobe,” Cas had termed it - and on the walls hung handmade quilts and mats from various indigenous peoples in the southern hemisphere.

But none of this compared to what Cas actually _did_ to make Dean believe that Cas was a witch.Dean could have ignored the witchiness of Cas’s apartment - might have dismissed it as merely _eclectic_ and _cultured_ \- if Cas hadn’t, throughout their whole friendship, been so obviously practicing witchcraft right in front of Dean’s nose. Too often had Dean walked into Cas’s small kitchen to find Cas shoving something hastily inside a drawer, and more than once Dean had seen what he knew to be a near dead houseplant miraculously revived the next day. Add that to the way animals gravitated toward Cas and the way his meals always seemed to pep up the person indulging in it, and Dean was pretty certain his best friend was a witch. 

It didn’t bother him. 

What did bother him, however, was the fact that Cas wouldn’t admit to it.

“Your cooking is magic,” Dean said around a mouthful of Cas’s mashed potatoes. He was sitting at Cas’s dining table, watching Cas’s expression for any change. He was gratified when he saw it: Cas’s mouth twitched upward.

“Thank you,” Cas said from across Dean, sounding pleased. He had his hands wrapped around a steaming cup of apple cider, and, as usual, there was no plate in front of him. He rarely ate with Dean, but he was always more than happy to watch Dean take bite after bite of his cooking. As Dean sampled Cas’s green beans, he maintained a soft smile.

A tingle started to migrate toward the tips of Dean’s fingers as he ate. This happened often when Dean was invited over for dinner. Cas would set a plate in front of Dean and watch as Dean enjoyed the meal, and sooner or later, whatever magic Cas had sprinkled on it would start to warm Dean up from the inside.

“What’s in it?” Dean asked. “Seriously, is it magic?” He was dead serious, but Cas just took a sip of his (homemade) apple cider and kept smiling.

“It’s a secret.”

Cas never answered, and Dean never asked a second time. Dean didn’t mind being dosed with a shot of pep - as long as that’s all it was - not when Cas seemed so content seeing Dean so happy. So Dean just kept eating, and Cas just kept watching. 

 

Everything changed one day in September. Dean, comfortably full from a large serving of pot roast, took his first bite of Cas’s new pumpkin pie recipe. It was wonderful: rich, sweet, vaguely bitter, but heavy enough on the whipped cream that Dean happily dove in for another bite almost immediately after his first. As he swallowed, he looked up at Cas’s expression, which had been anxious since setting the slice in front of Dean. Dean felt something new take root in his gut when his eyes met Cas’s, something warm and expansive. Something that tugged at him and made his heart skip a beat and heat rise to his cheeks. An overwhelming desire rose up within him - a desire to lean in and brush his lips against Cas’s, to run his hands through Cas’s hair, softly, then drag those same hands down Cas’s back where he would leave score marks with his fingernails. 

Vaguely, and with an uncomfortable sense of how tight his pants had gotten, Dean remembered what Sam had said about spells and potions like this. They were dangerous and overwhelming, mostly illegal, and far, far too common. What Dean felt at this moment certainly seemed to check all those boxes: his heart pounded, his breath came quick, and all of his thoughts were overwhelmed by vivid images of licking whipped cream off of Cas’s chest.

“How is it?” Cas asked, his eyes dancing back and forth between Dean’s, worried by Dean’s silence.

“It’s great,” Dean said, because it was and he could never lie to Cas. He smiled, because he found he couldn’t do anything else _but_ smile. He wanted to rail at Cas, demand why he’d slipped Dean a love potion, why he would abuse Dean’s trust like that, but Dean couldn’t seem to form the words, not when Cas’s expression relaxed into happiness, not when Cas’s eyes were so blue and so close, not when Cas looked so good in the half-light of his kitchen. 

Not when Cas smiled and brought another forkful of pie to Dean’s lips and said, “Another bite?”

Dean could only wrap his hand around Cas’s wrist and guide the fork into his mouth, watching the way Cas’s eyes darkened when Dean’s lips closed around the tines. It was scary how much Dean liked Cas this way - up close, with lips parted and eyes lust-darkened. Dean barely lasted through desert without spontaneously combusting whenever Cas leaned in to steal a bite of pie. High on Cas’s presence, Dean never wanted desert to end. 

 

By the time he got home, however, the high had worn off. In the clean, fresh air of his studio apartment, another feeling replaced the lightheaded happiness he’d felt in Cas’s present: betrayal. He felt used. He and Cas had had such a good friendship, and Cas risked it all for what? For a chance to be fake-loved by Dean? It was skeevy, and it was hurtful, mostly because now Dean could never forgive Cas for this breech of trust and he’d be losing one of the greatest friends he’d ever had because of it. 

Quickly, before doubt began to settle in his head, Dean shot off a text message to Cas: _My place tomorrow for dinner._

Dean’s apartment would be neutral ground, where Cas would have no way of hitting Dean with another dose. 

When Cas replied with a thumbs up and a smiley face, Dean stamped down the affection rising up in his chest.

 

Cas showed up the next night at Dean’s door, looking happier and healthier than Dean had ever seen him. For a moment, Dean’s defenses relaxed and he felt the beginnings of the same artificial feeling from the previous night starting to take root again. It was both a punch to the gut and a tidal wave of heat at the same time. He forced it down. “Have a seat, Cas.”

“Thank you for the invitation, Dean.” Cas walked into Dean’s apartment like he always did: quietly, contentedly, like he was walking into a museum full of the things he loved. He ran his fingers over Dean’s kitchen counter like he was saying hello.

“Just wanted to talk to you about something,” Dean said, pulling out a chair at his dining table before he even realized what he was doing.

Cas’s expression was almost painfully hopeful when he looked at Dean. With a sick feeling, Dean realized it was probably because Cas assumed his spell had worked and that Dean was going to proclaim his love. “What is it?” Cas asked.

Dean motioned to the chair he'd pulled out. “Later. Sit and eat first.”

So Cas, hiding a grin, sat. And he ate.

They chatted mindlessly about the last episode of Dr. Sexy and speculated about the season finale. Dean tried not to let his guard down, but Cas’s eyes were soft and half-lidded and his mouth was fixed into a soft smile and he kept looking at Dean like he’d found his favorite exhibit in the museum and never wanted to stop looking at it and- _dammit,_ Dean would miss him. Dean would miss him so much.

“Dr. Piccolo has to pull through,” Cas said, spearing another head of brocolli on his fork. “She’s the only good thing Dr. Sexy has in his life; he just doesn’t know it.”

Dean chose his next words carefully. “She manipulates him, though - that’s not a healthy relationship.”

Cas thought about this, slowly chewing his brocolli. He nodded. “Letting herself get bit by the venomous snake just to force his return from Nepal _was_ a poor choice.” He smiled when he pierced another piece of brocolli. “This is a strange comment, but I just wanted to tell you that your brocolli is very good.”

But Dean had gotten distracted. Knowing that this would likely be the last time he saw Cas, he’d found himself trying to memorize what Cas looked like sitting in Dean’s kitchen. Cas looked good tonight. He was wearing a button-down - it fit for once - and though it was white like all of his others and still had the vague impressions of wrinkles that had been hastily pressed, this time his sleeves were rolled up and his tie was missing. The lack of a tie was the most conspicuous difference because instead of it, Cas had left the first few buttons open at the neck. Dean wanted suddenly to find out what sound Cas would make if Dean leaned forward and breathed against the skin there, if Cas could shiver if Dean pressed his mouth to it. Then he wondered if Cas’s shoulders would feel as solid under Dean’s teeth as they looked under the shirt.

Cas, meanwhile, was looking more closely at the brocolli on his fork. “What’s in it? Magic?” he asked, his eyes twinkling.

Just like that, the illusion was shattered. Dean snapped himself out of it because somehow, Cas had dosed him again. He scrambled away from the table. “How?” he demanded.

Cas put his fork down. “Dean?”

“You dosed me again, Cas - _how?_ ”

Cas’s eyes were wide, his face fearful. “Dean, what are you talking about?”

“You hit me with a love potion, dude!”

Cas’s face went suddenly pale. “What?” he asked, weakly.

Dean was as far away from Cas as he could get. His back hit the wall. “You heard me.”

“I’m not - I would never.” Cas’s voice was small and hurt, and it made Dean ache. But he pushed past the effects of the potion, knowing that whatever affection he felt for Cas right now was artificial.

“How am I supposed to believe you? It hit me out of nowhere _last night,_ Cas.”

There was a long silence. Cas was staring at his plate. “Is it so hard for you to believe you might actually be in love with me?”

The pain was audible. It took all of Dean’s restraint not to wrap his arms around Cas and press his apologies into Cas’s hair. He tried to stay angry, but when he spoke, even he could hear his resolve crumbling. “That’s - that’s not what I meant, Cas. I just - “

But Cas wasn’t done breaking Dean’s heart. “You’ve known me for two years, and you still don’t know me enough to know that even if I _were_ a witch, that I would _never -_ that I would never…”

“Cas,” Dean said weakly. He took a few tentative steps back to the table. “That’s not it.”

But Cas was already out of his chair and by the door, wrapping his scarf around his neck. His nose was red despite the heat being on. “I’m not a witch,” he said, fixing Dean with a look so pained Dean felt it in his own heart. Then Cas was gone.

 

Dean knocked on Cas’s apartment the next morning, fully expecting to be left standing alone outside. But Cas opened the door, looking wary. When Dean, shocked into silence, just stood and stared, Cas, brows furrowed, began to close the door again, but Dean shoved his way through.

“Wait - Cas.”

Cas just left him in the entrance way to close the door for himself and walked back into the kitchen. He was in a T-shirt and sweatpants and had the disheveled look of someone who didn’t see the need to care about the world. But still, he fixed Dean a cup of coffee while Dean sat nervously at the kitchen table. When Cas set it in front of Dean, Dean just stared at Cas’s profile, humbled by Cas’s compassion. Cas’s eyes darted up to meet his, but then just as quickly were torn away. He sat down and sipped at his own cup. He waited for Dean to begin.

“I called Sam last night,” Dean said softly.

Cas remained silent. He was blowing on the steam rising from his coffee cup.

“He told me that love potions don’t work the way I thought they worked. If I _had_ been dosed, I wouldn’t have known because I would have been so focused on you.”

Cas seemed to wrestle with himself for a moment, nostrils flaring. Finally, he said, “I wouldn’t know.” He looked up and fixed Dean with a hard look. “I have no experience with them.”

Cowed, Dean looked down at his mug. It was Cas’s favorite mug, decorated with bees. Dean had given it to him. When Cas had first seen it, his eyes had crinkled in joy and he’d barely been able to get out a “Thank you, Dean” before bursting out in delighted laughter. Dean suddenly recognized that moment as one of the moments he had started to fall in love - the real kind of love.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” Dean said. “I should have known you would never have even tried.”

Cas put his mug down carefully. “I would never have tried because I care about what you want.” Then, amazingly, he reached out and touched Dean’s cheek with his fingers. “Not because I’m not in love with you.” 

Dean mirrored Cas’s actions, skating his knuckles across Cas’s jaw, just to understand, just to test the waters and see if he could survive in the current. When Cas turned his head toward Dean’s hand, eyelids fluttering, Dean felt his heart skip. The current was strong, but it wasn’t overwhelming. If he let Cas anchor him, he had a feeling he could stay in the water forever. A sense of awe washed over Dean as he watched the paper tremble of Cas’s eyelids - awe that Cas loved him, and that he loved Cas, and that twenty-four hours ago he had no idea he’d be coming up to the reef’s edge, on the precipice of something so huge and life-changing. 

“You love me,” Dean said numbly.

“I love you,” Cas confirmed. Then he smiled, absolutely joyous. “And you love me.”

The happiness on Cas’s face was magnetic, and knowing that Dean had put it there himself made his heart spill over. “I do,” he said, and slowly, like the waves reaching out for the shore, he leaned forward, gripping the back of Cas’s neck. 

The first press of Cas’s lips against Dean’s was soft and tentative, and it reminded Dean that he hadn’t even been concretely aware that he _wanted_ to be kissing Cas just a day ago. Despite that, it seemed to Dean that they’d been doing this for years: kissing softly in Cas’s kitchen over a cup of coffee balanced on Dean’s leg. 

Really, they _should_ have been doing this for years, because if Dean had found himself worthy two years ago, he would have known that each spark between him and Cas hadn’t been magic, hadn’t been the product of something artificial and otherwise impossible. He would have known that Cas had fallen in love with him _for him_ , and that Dean was allowed to love him back. 

Cas began to press harder. Dean fumbled his mug as he tried blindly to put it on the table, then spilled a little on Cas’s sweatpants.

“Shit,” Dean said, pulling away. “Sorry.”

Cas shook his head, pulling Dean back in by the back of his head. “They’re coming off anyway, aren’t they?”

When Dean said “shit” this time around, it was with his hands at Cas’s waistband.

 

It turned out that everything that made Dean think Cas was a witch had perfectly good explanations. 

“Your plants?” Dean asked. They had never finished their coffee, so after having wandered back into the kitchen after spending more time in the bedroom than Dean had anticipated - not that he was complaining - Cas had made a fresh pot and set a steaming mug in front of Dean, dipping in for a kiss while he did it.

“What about them?” Cas said into his own mug. He was sitting in his usual chair, freshly-showered and looking so smug Dean wanted to drag him back into the bedroom.

“I’ve seen them close to death, then blooming the next day.”

Cas put his feet in Dean’s lap. He was wearing bee socks, and for some reason Dean just wanted to kiss Cas all the more. “I just replace them when they die,” Cas said, not even a little bit embarrassed. “They die a lot.”

Dean ran a hand up Cas’s leg, enjoying the way one of Cas’s eyebrows rose over the rim of his mug. “Alright," Dean said. "What about - why do all the dogs in this building love you?”

Cas smiled. “When you spend enough time in the kitchen, you start to smell like a kitchen.”

“That’s it?” 

Cas shrugged. The movement drew Dean’s attention to Cas’s shoulders, and for what was probably the 27th time in two days, he imagined sinking his teeth into them, just lightly, just enough to leave a mark for a few minutes. He was so caught up in the image that he wasn’t even annoyed when Cas smirked and said, “That’s it.”

“Yeah, alright,” Dean said. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

“You’re my idiot, if that makes you feel better.”

“I’m not done, though,” Dean said, holding up a hand because Cas had set his feet on the ground and had started to lean in, intent shining in his eyes.

Cas settled back, sighing. “What?”

“You’re always hiding shit in the kitchen,” Dean said. “Like, you’ll hide them when you see me come in.”

Cas was trying to bite down on a smile. He put his feet back in Dean’s lap and leaned back against the back of his chair. “Secret family recipes, Dean. Not secret witchy spells. Did you think my food was spellwork, too?” The question was a joke, but Cas saw Dean’s expression. “Wait. You really thought my food was magic?”

“Fuck you,” Dean said, ears burning. “You never told me about secret family recipes.”

“Because they’re _secret_ , Dean.”

“Whatever.” He picked at the edge of Cas’s sock, delighted when he saw Cas’s toes wiggle. “…think I could get in on those recipes?”

Cas was silent for a long moment. When Dean looked up, eyes wide and playfully innocent, Cas was staring right back at him. “Family recipes mean you’d have to be part of the family.”

Dean laid his hand on the curve of Cas’s ankle. “Oh.” They stared at each other. “One day, maybe?” Dean said, terrified by the significance of those words, but buoyed by the warmth of Cas’s skin.

Cas smiled and looked down at the coffee cup in his hands. “One day, maybe,” he murmured.

 

“One day” was three years later, when “maybe” became “I do,” and Castiel Novak, with his sea-blue eyes, became Castiel Winchester. 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a pic shared on the Profound Bond discord server of a old family recipe written on an aged piece of paper. It looked like a page torn out of a spell book, and I ran with it. (Thanks, Mal!)
> 
> Rebloggable link [here](http://surlybobbies.tumblr.com/post/172198602396/title-an-ass-out-of-you-and-me-author)!


End file.
